Mighty LeBron has returned, and much as they may shout, no one in his old town is laughing, least of all our man courtside for the Heat's blowout at the Q

I wish Cavs owner Dan Gilbert nothing but the best in his pursuit of justice, victory, and profit, but he can't suit up and take the floor — and neither, unfortunately, can Cavs head coach Byron Scott, who was reminiscing the other day about how the NBA game was played in the 1980s, when he was a Laker and a team took the measure of an adversary who might not be up to snuff by testing his tolerance for pain.

"You'd see someone wearing a pad," Scott said, smiling at the memory. "We'd go right after that. It's different today."

After last night's loss to the Heat, Scott told the mob — the media mob, of course — that he wasn't embarrassed by the Cavs loss on Thursday night to the Heat. He should be: His team didn't try very hard. They hugged the Whore of Akron like a long-lost brother, stood frozen in their fancy shoes as he humiliated them, and disgraced themselves, the franchise, and the town. You can lose — lose badly — with honor and with heart. Didn't happen last night. Not even close. Six months after The Decision, the Cavaliers confirmed, in the worst way, what plenty of folks already thought of them — that they were a one-man show, and that LeBron James had to leave Cleveland to win a title.

I never believed that. I don't believe it this morning. But the game isn't about what fans or experts believe or don't believe; it's about what happens on the court or field. What happened here last night was demoralizing to every Cleveland fan.

I suspect that Byron Scott grasps this. I know Dan Gilbert does — and he'd better do something about it quick. Cleveland fans aren't going to cross the street to watch a basketball team lay down and die, much less pay for the displeasure. The Cavaliers were the worst team in the NBA before LeBron arrived, and dead last in attendance. Those unhappy days are right around the corner. What went down at the Q last night was the hope that this Cavs team had either passion or pride. That stuff can't be coached.

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There was no other mob besides the media. As the home team tucked its tail between its legs and took its beating with no whimper of protest, scattered drunks tossed their beer and tussled. If anyone hurled anything but bile James's way, it landed short and harmlessly. Nothing approaching violence broke out or threatened to, although I think Drew Carey might have murdered what was left of his career.

Drew was featured in the pre-game parade of local heroes, not a long or particularly impressive march. I do love Bernie Kosar as much as the next Browns fan, but if he's your drum major, the trophy case is empty of everything but dust.

I love the town. Love the teams. Love the fans. They deserve joy, a taste of the ultimate triumph that only things like sports provides — and that they haven't known since 1964. To embrace these teams is simply to embrace the hope that someday joy will come.

Meanwhile, sadness and defeat are old friends. You need not reach for their embrace. Like the Whore of Akron last night, they'll walk up and smile and open wide their arms. From there, it's up to you.

--Click here to follow the @Scott_Raab journey on Twitter and click the tabs above at left for more on LeBron's flight.